


JJ's Girl

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 09:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange
Summary: Where can I find a woman like that?ORMila is sweet, but clueless.





	JJ's Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote this entire thing after listening to "Jesse's Girl" on the radio. This one's for you, Rick Springfield.

Sara doesn't qualify for the 2018 Grand Prix Final. 

It's close; a younger Canadian skater just barely edges her out. Mila was hoping Sara would come anyway, to cheer on Michele who did qualify, but no such luck. 

“I can't pander to him, Mila,” she explained over Skype. “It's tough love. Better for both of us that way.” 

Mila supposes that's true. Mickey channels his hurt into a bronze medal behind the two Yuris, a career high. Mila earns the same, although for her, it's not quite as big an accomplishment. She still wishes Sara had been there to see it. She wishes even more that Sara was at the banquet. 

It's painfully boring without her. Once the meals are cleared away and the party begins in earnest, Mila goes to sit with Victor and Yuuri Katsuki, who have found a table in the corner with Phichit and Chris. That doesn't last long. All they want to talk about is their separate wedding plans: guest lists, caterers, cakes. Whether chocolate fountains are passé or still acceptable. It seems remarkably coincidental to Mila that, just months after Victor and Yuuri found each other, Chris got together with Yuuri's best friend. Still, Phichit and Chris can't seem to keep their eyes, or their hands, off each other any more than Yuuri and Victor can, so who is she to judge? 

When the talk turns to the pros and cons of raising children in Asia, Europe and North America, Mila reaches her limit. She excuses herself to go get another drink, and flees. Unfortunately, there's nowhere to go. A few of the other ladies' competitors give her a casual wave, but, with the notable exception of Sara, Mila's never been friends with them the way all the men seem to be friends, or more, with one another. She grabs another drink at the bar, flirts briefly with the pretty bartender, and spots Yuri Plisetsky, sitting alone glaring daggers at the dance floor. His friend Otabek didn't qualify for the GPF either. 

“What's up, sweetie?” Mila slides into the seat beside him. He's seventeen years old now, and taller than her, but she'll always see him as a little brother. 

“Nothing,” he growls. Mila follows his gaze to JJ and Isabella, dancing far more closely than the bouncy pop song warrants. “Look at that bitch,” Yuri adds. 

“I am.” Isabella's wearing a tight, low-cut red dress. Her massive engagement ring glints under the overhead lights, threatening to blind everyone each time JJ spins her. 

“Bitch,” Yuri repeats, venomously. 

“What has she done to you?” 

“She thinks JJ's ass-faced fans are better than mine.” 

“Oh.” Given the evident depth of Yuri's hatred, she expected something more dramatic. “Is that it?” 

“What?” Yuri turns his scowl on her. He's been drinking, clearly. For a Russian, Yuri's always been a cheap drunk. 

“Is she still going on about that?” 

“Well...I....” Yuri blinks. “I mean, not lately. But still. I don't forgive.” 

“Clearly not.” 

Apparently dancing to some other song in their heads, JJ dips Isabella. She laughs, and her dress shifts lower, revealing the top of a lacy black bra. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, an expression passes over Yuri's face. He quickly changes it into a disgusted grimace, but not quickly enough. _Oh_ , Mila thinks. _So that's it._

Mila knows Yuri, and she knows what it's like to be a teenager. She's a little surprised the object of Yuri's first—as far as she knows—impossible crush is a woman, but sexuality is fluid. Mila knows that very well. She rests a hand on Yuri's shoulder. “It's okay,” she says, as JJ lifts Isabella off her feet, and Yuri looks like he's going to throw up. “I'll get you another drink. Just don't tell Yakov.” He nods, and she goes back to the bar, her heart full of sisterly sympathy. 

***

“Isabella Yang? Really?” Sara frowns. They're relatively close, France versus Italy, but as Mila sits in her hotel room alone, it feels like they're a whole world apart. 

“She is cute.” 

“I guess. But she's so...so...” Sara hesitates. 

“JJ?” 

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Mila shrugs. “That's love for you.” Inexplicable, unavoidable. “I have to help him out.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Find him someone else.” 

“Ah.” Sara's frown grows deeper.

“What?” 

“It's just...” Sara's tongue pokes out, wetting her lips. “You're such a sweetheart, Mila, but do you think that's the best idea?” 

“Of course. He's still a kid, Sara. He needs me. Anyway, I don't want to talk about Yuri anymore.” Not when her time with Sara is so limited. 

“Neither do I,” Sara replies, shifting closer to the laptop. Close enough that Mila can see the smooth, unblemished skin of her beautiful face. “What are you wearing?” She asks, grinning, although she can clearly see the nightie Mila threw on when she got back to her room. 

“Pretty soon, nothing,” Mila replies, grinning back, and reaches for the hem of the nightie.

***

Katya Guba is one of Yakov's newest recruits. She's Ukrainian, and at sixteen, she's in her last year of juniors. She's not as voluptuous as Isabella. She's a skater, so she's skinny and flat-chested, but she has a shiny black bob. She's also thoroughly dedicated, the way Isabella is. Mila can easily picture her wearing a “Yuri” necklace, and screaming her lungs out from the sidelines. 

When Mila approaches her in the locker room after practice, Katya's speechless. It's the first time they've ever spoken, but there's no time for anyone to be star-struck. 

“You want me to what?” Katya gapes, when Mila's given her a quick rundown of the situation. Well, not the entire situation. 

“Go out with Yuri,” Mila repeats. “On a date,” she clarifies. 

“That's what I thought you said. Isn't he...” Katya trails off.

“What?” 

“I mean, everyone says Yuri's...” 

Mila knows what everyone says, and clearly everyone is wrong. But that's a subject for Yuri to discuss, not her, so she says, deliberately misunderstanding, “He's got a bit of a temper, but he's a good guy. Really.” 

“That's not what I meant.” 

“Then you'll do it?” 

“I...I guess? Okay. Sure.” She doesn't sound sure, but that doesn't matter. Once Katya gets to know Yuri—and, more importantly, once Yuri gets to know her—she'll change her mind, Yuri will forget about Isabella, and everyone will be happy. 

“Great. I'll text you with the details.” _And people think matchmaking is hard._ Mila scoffs. _They just don't have my skills._

It ends up being less of a “set up” and more of an “ambush.” No matter how she phrases it, or how many hints she sprinkles into their daily conversations, Yuri refuses all of Mila's attempts to get him to watch the juniors practice. So, after a week of being ignored, she insists on taking him for coffee and tells Katya to show up ten minutes later. 

It's a long ten minutes. Yuri spends the whole time texting, his thumbs flying over his phone as he grins—yes, grins—at the screen. 

“Who are you talking to?” Mila asks. 

“No one! Mind your own business!” Yuri replies, which probably means it's Katsuki or Victor. Yuri still can't admit he actually likes them. 

When Katya shows up, Mila breathes a sigh of relief. She's looking good, in a fur-trimmed winter coat, leggings and boots. She hesitates in the doorway, and Mila waves her over. 

“Oh, shoot, I just remembered, I have to go.” Mila stands. “You remember Katya, don't you, Yuri? One of the juniors? You can have my seat, Katya. It's so busy.” There are several unoccupied tables, but Mila doesn't expect Yuri's noticed that. “I'll see you guys later.” She gives Katya a discreet thumbs up and leaves as sedately as possible. Once outside, she glances back through the window. Yuri's still texting, so she takes out her own phone. 

_Don't be an asshole_ , she writes, and sends it to him. He looks up sharply, glancing around the coffee shop. _Be nice to her_ , Mila adds, and walks away. She's sown the seeds. Now she just has to wait for the flowers to bloom. 

***

“He never stopped texting? The entire time?” In her apartment in Milan, Sara stretches out on her yoga mat. In St. Petersburg, Mila does the same, careful not to dip below the view of the laptop's webcam. 

“That's what Katya said. When he left, he said, 'you can have the rest of my biscotti.' Those are the only words that passed his lips.” She'd seemed annoyed with Mila, like that was her fault. Clearly, Katya hadn't done enough to woo Yuri. 

Sara arches her back, her nipples poking out beneath the thin white material of her T-shirt. Mila wishes she was there to tweak them. “So, you're giving up?” 

“Not at all! Katya just wasn't the right one. Don't worry. I have a Plan B.” 

“You always do, my love.” Sara spreads her legs, giving Mila a very excellent view indeed as she stretches her hamstrings. 

***

If Yuri doesn't want Katya, Mila reasons, then maybe he doesn't want Isabella because she's cute and enthusiastic. Maybe he wants her because she's a sexy older woman. And maybe he doesn't want to date her, but to fuck her. 

To that end, Mila scours the Internet until she finds “Svetlana, 30, credit cards accepted.” She's older than Isabella, but she's got the look down almost perfectly, and Mila can't deny she's sexy as hell. She arrives at the rink in a slinky red dress not unlike the one Isabella wore to the GPF banquet, her eyeshadow smoky and her lips like ripe strawberries. 

“It is a pleasure to be here,” she says to Mila. Her nails are perfectly painted to match her dress. Svetlana looks around the arena foyer. “The gentleman you wished me to meet...”

“He'll be out in a moment.” Hopefully. “I should warn you, you're going to be a surprise.” 

“I am often a surprise, my dear. Don't worry. He will be very appreciative of your gift.” 

Mila's sure of it. She doesn't want a repeat of Katya, though, so she says, “I should also warn you, he's young. Maybe a little...immature?” 

Svetlana's laugh is a throaty smoker's chuckle. “Darling, I have helped many young men find their maturity. I assure you, your friend is in excellent hands.” 

Mila smiles. “Great. That's great. Thank you.” Svetlana nods graciously, and Mila leans against the trophy case to wait. 

Finally, Yuri emerges from the bowels of the arena, his equipment bag slung over his shoulder. He's texting, of course. He doesn't even look up from his phone when Mila says, “Yuri!” 

“What?” 

“I have a friend I would like you to meet.” 

“Yuri, is it?” Svetlana steps forward, her heels clicking on the floor. That gets Yuri to glance up. “ _Enchantée._ My name is Svetlana.” She holds out a hand.

He shakes it, at least. It's a manly shake, like he's meeting a sponsor or a competitor, but at this point, Mila's not that picky. 

“I thought you and I might get to know one another, Yuri,” Svetlana suggests, squeezing Yuri's hand.

“Yeah.” Yuri looks at Mila and pulls his hand back. “Right. I'm kind of busy, so...” 

“You and Svetlana are going to dinner,” Mila informs him, firmly. It's already paid for, as are the rest of her services. A hefty price, but Mila can afford it, at the moment, and she's counting it as Yuri's birthday present. For the next five years. “Then, afterward, who knows?” She looks at him meaningfully. 

A new expression comes to Yuri's eyes: fear, along with a dash of panic. “I'm really...I'm sorry, I really can't...” He stutters, and he flees. Actually runs away, like an animal scared for his life, leaving Mila and Svetlana looking after him. 

“He's very fast,” Svetlana remarks. 

“He's an Olympic athlete.” 

“Ah. I'm afraid you may be right, my dear. Perhaps he's not quite ready.” 

“Yeah.” Mila's phone buzzes. She glances down to see a new text. _What the fuck, hag? I'm going to fucking kill you!!_ She puts the phone away. 

“I hate to be crass,” Svetlana says, “but I have already been paid. So if there is someone else you would like me to meet, I'm open to many types of client. Many types.” 

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, Mila considers it. But, no. Even though they're miles apart, she and Sara are faithful to one another. 

Fortunately, at that moment, Yakov appears in the doorway. “Happy Birthday, Yakov!” Mila calls. 

“What?” 

Mila leaves as Svetlana approaches him, her hand extended and her bright red lips curved into a smile. 

***

For the first time, Mila and Sara are on the podium together at Worlds. The thrill of being up there with her, even if they got silver and bronze respectively, echoes through Mila's body for a long time after they step down. She's still riding high the next day, her leg subtly pressed against Sara's as they sit in the stands and watch the men's free skate. 

Yuri takes the gold, Yuuri Katsuki the silver. There's no surprise there. They've been alternating at every tournament for the past two years. The bronze is won by JJ Leroy, which is a bit of an upset. Seung-Gil Lee had been favoured, with Phichit Chulanont a long shot. As they all crowd onto Yuri's centre podium for the pictures, JJ slings an arm around Yuri's waist. Yuri freezes. Mila can see it all the way from where she's sitting. He puts one arm over Yuuri K.'s shoulders, but the other hangs limply by his side. He doesn't touch JJ at all. 

“I was hoping he'd gotten over the Isabella thing,” Mila tells Sara later, as they sit in a little Japanese tea house. They're not far from Yuuri's family home, apparently, and many of the skaters are planning to visit the hot springs after the tournament. Others, like Mila, are booked on the North American leg of the Stars on Ice tour, and have to leave immediately for rehearsals. “But it doesn't look like it.” 

“Maybe he just doesn't like JJ,” Sara suggests, pursing her lips and blowing on her green tea. 

“That's not it.” Mila can't explain why, exactly, but she knows. 

As Mila takes a bite of her black sesame tart, Sara nudges her beneath the table. Smiling, Mila nudges back. Sara kicks a little harder, her eyes growing wide, and she points her chin in the direction of the café door. 

Subtly, Mila glances over her shoulder. Isabella herself is there, raindrops rolling off her trenchcoat and the rainbow coloured umbrella in her hand. Mila looks away, but not quickly enough. A moment later, Isabella is at their table. 

“Hello.” 

“Isabella. Hi.” Sara smiles at her. “How are you?” 

“I'm looking for JJ. Have you seen him?” 

Sara looks at Mila, then answers for both of them. “No, we haven't. Sorry.” 

Isabella nods. She turns, as if to go, then changes her mind. “What...what about Yuri Plisetsky?” 

“Yuri?” Mila asks. Why would Isabella be asking after him? Unless...

“Do you know where he is?” Isabella prompts.

“No.” Mila's answer is a little more abrupt than she intended. 

Sara softens it for her. “You could ask at the hotel,” she suggests. “Maybe he's sleeping in.” 

“Okay. Yeah.” Isabella gives a tight little grimace. “Thanks.” 

She leaves again. Sara raises her eyebrows, then picks up her cup of tea. “That was...” 

“Do you think there's actually something going on? Between Isabella and Yuri?” Mila can't picture it. She seems so devoted to JJ. But Yuri's been texting a lot lately, even more than usual, and he's been smiling so much, Yakov is worried he's on drugs. 

Sara looks at her for a moment. “Ah, no, my love. I don't think there's anything going on between Isabella and Yuri.” 

“You're right.” Of course. Silly to even think it. Mila holds up her tart. “Want a bite?” 

Sara grins and leans forward, nibbling delicately out of Mila's hand. 

***

The off-season is bliss. After the two weddings, one in Hasetsu and the other in Bangkok, Mila and Sara go to Greece for three weeks of sun, sand and glorious sex. When she gets back to St. Petersburg, Mila is a new woman, rejuvenated, ready for everything the new season—possibly her last, but at her age, every season is possibly her last—can throw at her. 

When she arrives at the rink, though, she's the only senior skater there. 

“Victor and Yuuri are still on their honeymoon,” Yakov tells her. He got a sunburn on their wedding day that still hasn't completely subsided. “Georgi's out sick. And Yuri went to Canada.” 

“Canada?” The word sets alarm bells ringing in Mila's mind. “Why? Why did he go there? He didn't tell me he was going there.” 

“What the hell do I know? He got back from Thailand and told me he was going to Montreal. Supposed to be back tomorrow. Get warmed up, I'll be there in a minute.” He wanders off. 

Mila takes to the ice, starting off slowly like she always does after a break. Her mind, however, is spinning wildly. 

Isabella and JJ had been at the wedding in Japan, but not at Chris and Phichit's. She tries desperately to remember if she'd seen anything strange between Isabella and Yuri. She doesn't think so, but Victor and Yuuri's wedding was a lusciously romantic one, with dozens of candles lighting the path from the onsen down to the beach. Yuuri cried nonstop. Victor was nearly as bad. Sara wore a beautiful pink sundress with white Louboutins, and she and Mila had danced the night away together. It was paradise. Mila wasn't paying attention to Yuri, or to Isabella. 

_Maybe I should have been_ , she thinks, as she does a quick double Lutz. _In any case, Yuri is going to have some serious explaining to do when he gets back._

He denies it, of course. Mila expected that. 

“You have lost the last of your marbles, Mila.” 

“You can tell me, Yuri. I'm your big sister.” 

“You're a nutcase, that's what you are.” 

“But you went to Canada...”

“Because I wanted to work on my quad Axel with a coach in Montreal.” That sounds like a lie. The blush on the tip of Yuri's ears seems to confirm it, but he looks her in the eye and holds fast. “I'm not fucking Isabella Yang, okay?” 

“Okay. But just so you know, I don't mind if you are.” 

Yuri snorts. “Great. Thanks for your support.” As Mila watches, he goes out onto the ice, tries an Axel, and falls flat on his ass. 

“I don't think that coach did you much good,” Mila shouts. She gets an obscene gesture in return. 

***

Three days later, a text comes from Sara. _Thought you'd want to see this._ There's a link attached. As Mila stretches out her leg on the boards, she clicks through. 

It's some figure skating gossip site. Mila tends to ignore those things, but this time, the headline is very intriguing indeed. “JJ Leroy and Isabella Yang Break Off Engagement.” 

The article doesn't offer up much more than that. It notes that Isabella was the president of JJ's international fan club, and that they'd been engaged for nearly three years. There are no quotes from either of them, although the article ends with the usual, “Leroy's coach, Nathalie Leroy, has requested privacy during this difficult time.” 

That's the final straw. Mila glances over to make sure Yakov is busy with Georgi, and heads off toward the break room, where she last saw Yuri going. 

He's there, all right, sitting in a corner. He's got his headphones plugged into his laptop, and as Mila enters, she can hear him speaking in English. 

“That's awesome,” he says. His voice sounds lighter than she's ever heard it. Almost...excited? “Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “I'm looking forward to it, you ass...” 

“Yuri!” 

He slams his laptop shut so hard, Mila's sure the screen must have cracked. “What the fuck? Jesus fucking Christ, hag, can't you leave me alone for one fucking minute?” 

“This is the break room,” Mila replies, smoothly. “I have as much right to be here as anyone.” 

“Right. Well, I hope you fucking enjoy it.” Yuri seethes, ripping his headphones out of the computer.

“Yuri, you don't have to hide from me.” She holds up her phone. “I know. It's all over the Internet.” 

Yuri's eyes grow wide, flashing with that same feral fear she saw when he met the prostitute. “It is?” 

“JJ and Isabella broke up. There can only be one reason for that, right?” 

Yuri runs a hand through his hair, disarranging it. He doesn't fix it. That's how she knows this is serious. “Look, Mila, it's not how it seems, okay?” 

Mila's had about enough of this. “For God's sake, Yuri, just tell me!” 

He sighs. “Okay. Fuck. I didn't expect this to happen, okay? I mean, everything just sort of...happened.” 

“It's okay.” She wants to hug him, but not quite yet. First, she needs to hear it from his own lips. “You can't hide it now, Yuri.” 

“No. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should just...”

“You owe it to Isabella as much as to yourself. Come out and admit it.” 

“Yes.”

“You and Isabella are seeing each other.” 

“I...” Yuri slides his eyes shut, just for a moment, then opens them again. “Are you seriously a fucking lunatic?” 

Mila bristles. “Seems like you're the lunatic, Yuri. I've known this since the GPF banquet last year.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay, Mila. I'm dating Isabella fucking Yang. Does that make you happy?” 

“As long as you're happy!” She replies, but he's already stomping out of the room. 

***

“There are lots more great photos online,” Yuuri K. says, as he flicks to what appears, thankfully, to be the last wedding picture on his tablet. Mila loves Yuuri and Victor, their wedding was amazing, but there's a limit to how many pictures any one person can take. She reached hers about twenty minutes ago. “You should check it out, and let us know if there's anything you want to order.”

“There are some wonderful candid pictures of all of you,” Victor adds, a breath before Yakov yells at them all to get back to work. 

Mila doesn't plan to actually look at the wedding photographer's website. Later on, though, when she's at home waiting until it's time to Skype Sara, she thinks, _Why not?_

Yuuri's right. There are a lot of pictures, by which Mila means, a lot. She skims the thumbnails, looking for any photos of her and Sara. 

There are a few. She clicks on the first, a picture of the two of them standing by the chocolate fountain. Apparently, it wasn't passé after all. Mila's standing awkwardly, her empty hands placed strangely on her hips, but Sara's sticking a piece of sliced melon into the flow, a mischievous grin on her face. She looks adorable. Mila looks at a few others, of she and Sara standing beneath the flower-covered arch and dancing barefoot on the candlelit beach. She wants to order all of them. She wants to frame them and hang them in a home that belongs to the two of them, where they never have to be parted, where they can live as a happy, normal couple rather than two people who see each other a few times a year. It will happen, Mila's sure of it. Just not soon enough. 

Mila flicks the last picture aside, and stops dead.

It's a breathtaking surprise, literally pulling the air from Mila's lungs until she gasps. At the same time, it's not really shocking at all. JJ and Yuri on the beach. JJ's tie is undone and hanging loose; tendrils of Yuri's hair are escaping his ponytail. Yuri's hands are on JJ's broad shoulders, JJ's rest on Yuri's waist, and they're gazing into each other's eyes like they're dreaming of a home just like Mila's.

There's still an hour before she's supposed to Skype Sara. She picks up the phone instead. Sara answers on the third ring.

“I'm a complete fucking idiot.” 

“No, darling!” Sara's response is gratifyingly quick, but it's not enough to cure Mila of the desire to crawl beneath her Ikea rug and die. “You're a great friend to Yuri. To everyone.”

“Am I the only one who didn't know about this?” 

“No! Not at all.” She hesitates. “Although everyone who was at Yuuri and Victor's wedding has some idea.” 

A twinge of irritation passes through Mila, interrupting the steady flow of humiliation. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I sent you that article!” 

“That didn't help!” 

Sara sighs. “Darling, Yuri's been your friend far longer than I've known you. I thought it was up to the two of you to sort this out.” 

“Right.” She was going to have to do that. “Fuck, I'm an idiot.” There's no escaping it.

“No.” Sara's voice is the one she uses with Michele: firm, brooking no argument. “You're sweet, Mila. That's why I love you.” 

That might make Mila feel better, someday. Not now. “I'll Skype you later,” she says, and hangs up. 

She contemplates calling Yuri, but he never answers his phone. Instead, she spends an excruciating amount of time composing a text in her mind, before finally gritting her teeth and sending it. _You and JJ look great together._

Five minutes pass before Yuri replies. A lifetime when it comes to him. _Thanks. So do you and Sara._ A brief hesitation. _Want to get lunch tomorrow?_

_OK_ , Mila answers, as Yuri adds: _Your treat_. 

She smiles, but repeats: _OK._

Seconds later, another text comes in, this one from Sara. _So_ , she says. _On the bright side, Isabella's cute, and I guess this means she's free ;)_

Mila laughs out loud. She sends Sara a heart, then emails Victor to say she wants copies of all of the photos of the two of them, plus the one of JJ and Yuri. Yuri's birthday's coming up again in a few months, and she owes him a present.


End file.
